


Smoke and Fireflies

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: After finishing a hunt, Team Free Will pays her a visit, and she spends some quality time with her favorite angel.
Relationships: Castiel/Original Female Character(s), Castiel/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Smoke and Fireflies

In her peaceful backyard, verdant trees create a canopy of protection over the group that safeguards the _world_. Lazy evenings with her most-cherished visitors have become a summer staple throughout the years. She anticipates them as eagerly as a child awaits Christmas morning.

Dean had dropped a dime around noon, revealing he, Sam, and Castiel were 300 miles out, which was deemed “close enough.” Her heart had thumped heavily at that conclusion--and at the knowledge that Cass would accompany the brothers this time. She’d, of course, invited her best friends over without a moment’s hesitation.

On the tail-end of a strawberry-sorbet sunset, the atmosphere is undeniably relaxing. The wood in the firepit burns steadily while the smell of smoke lingers in the humid air. All is dim, hushed. 

Three humans and an angel form a semicircle on the grass. Dean’s the furthest from her. His hand absentmindedly rests on his swollen stomach--a result of the home-cooked chicken dinner and s’mores bar she’d whipped up for the boys. Sam sits immediately to her left, but back a few extra inches to compensate for the length of his legs. And to her right is Cass, who maintains perfect posture even in a lawn chair. 

“Hey, I know what I wanted to ask you,” Sam breaks the comfortable silence, tapping his knuckles to her forearm. She speeds up the chewing of her final bite of s’more. “Do you still have that farmers’ market near here?”

Castiel hums with interest. “The last time we went, their selection of raw honey was superb. And I had the loveliest conversation with the older woman who’d harvested it…”

Touched by Cass’ memory, she places her palm on his sleeve before answering Sam. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.” She crumbles her napkin into a ball to secure the graham cracker crumbs and tosses it into the flames. “And I guess tomorrow _is_ Saturday…”

“Six AM?” Sam ventures.

“Six AM,” she confirms, clearly cementing the plan. The crackling of the fire makes it difficult to catch, but she detects Dean’s groan.

“Well, in that case…” Sam turns to smooch her cheek. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Night, guys.”

The younger Winchester barely reaches the steps of her deck before Dean leans forward in his chair. “Getting up at the asscrack of dawn to go stand around and stare at piles of vegetables. _Awesome_.” With his elbows digging into his thighs, he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes.  
She and Cass exchange a knowing glance, debating who will be the one to say it.

“You don’t remember?” Castiel asks.

“Skipping sleeping in on my day off to hang with a bunch of health nuts? Oh, I remember.”

The angel huffs. “No. The vendor selling the fresh fruit pies?”

Dean’s eyebrows quirk up.

“You bought, like, _six_ of ‘em to take back to Kansas?” she adds.

Dean runs his tongue over his lower lip thoughtfully. “Hmm. Maybe I _will_ turn in.”

“Uh-huh,” she teases as Dean begins walking in her direction. Cass shakes his head amusedly. On his way inside, Dean lays his palm on her shoulder, and she brings her hand up to grasp his arm gently.

In the newfound lull, Cass informs her, “I don’t require sleep.”

“I know.” She bumps his knee with hers. He smiles, his gaze on the grass.

She’s alone with the angel. A scenario she’d hoped would play out as soon as she hung up the phone that afternoon. She had even squeezed in a quick nap in case she found herself staying up late with him, like she often did when he visited. Cass always seems to appreciate the extra hours of her company. And she certainly enjoys the extra hours of _his_.

“Screw it,” she announces, smacking her thighs as she stands. “I’m makin’ a third s’more.”

The plastic lawn table displaying marshmallows, chocolate bars, graham crackers, roasting forks, plates, and napkins is a whopping six steps from their chairs, but Cass moves to join her. “May I make it for you?” His inquisitive expression leaves her grinning. She passes Cass her plate, complete with all three ingredients, and nabs a fork. 

They return to their seats. Castiel is mindful of the hem of his trench coat; he brushes it behind his legs while near the fire.

“You’re really not too hot?” she wonders, watching him. She’s aware angels experience temperature differently than humans, but wearing layers suitable for winter on an August evening and being only a few feet from a blaze...? 

“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” he assures her, balancing the plate on his lap. 

Thinking that he’s a trouper, she holds out the fork as an offering. Cass slips a marshmallow on one of the spikes.

“How long should I leave it in?” he asks, procuring the handle. 

She steals the plate from him. “I like them well-tanned, but not too dark.” He squints at her as if her response wasn’t an _answer_. “Just don’t burn it,” she chuckles. 

Castiel hovers the marshmallow over the tops of the flames, evidently taking the safe approach. Every 15 seconds or so, he pulls the fork back toward him to assess the progress. She waits patiently, trusting his judgment. 

“That appears satisfactory,” Cass declares after half a dozen inspections. 

“Here.” She arranges the graham crackers and chocolate, ready to smash the marshmallow between them. Castiel angles the fork, and, voilà, his very first s’more is complete. 

An idea too good to ignore comes to her. “I want you to taste it.” She lifts the treat so that it’s inches from the angel’s mouth. 

He smiles softly and goes in for a generous bite. A thin streak of marshmallow clings to his bottom lip and chin. 

Laughing, she raises her thumb to wipe it away. “Better than a bunch of molecules?”

“A little, yes,” Castiel replies honestly. “The honey in the crackers proved to be the most remarkable element.”

She shrugs. “I’ll take it.” 

She samples the s’more. “Better than a bunch of molecules?” Cass echoes with a wink.

Mouth full, she declares, “Couldn’t have made it better myself.”   
After finishing the treat, she scoots her chair a bit closer to Castiel’s and rests her head on his shoulder. She feels him sigh, and it eradicates any remaining hint of stress in her body.

“It’s an enchanting night,” Cass muses.

A mild breeze rustles through her hair, kissing her with a welcomed coolness. The flames before her dance wildly, freely, and they remind her _she’s_ alive. Fireflies dot the darkness, reflecting the glow in her own heart. 

Completely content, she agrees, “It really is.” 


End file.
